The stench was horrendous, and Harm reached up to readjust the cloth he had tied around and across his face to ease some of the potent smell. Satil’s outhouse was situated approximately seventy feet from the rear of his property. He lived in the largest building in town, set back in a walled compound. A long path wound from its gated entrance to where he lived with his family and several servants. The outhouse itself was a flat-roofed stone construction, like many in townships. It was approximately twenty feet long and ten feet wide, and the channel that had been constructed underneath ran the length of the building, with a width of approximately four feet. Its stone walls allowed for the contents to be purged by the town mage with magical fire without damaging the pits that held the waste. Soil formed the pit base, enabling liquid drainage. A sloped path led to a grated entry.

Harm stood at the top of the slope, peering at the grate below. The outhouse hadn’t been cleared for some time, and the level of decomposing faecal matter and the smell of ammonia associated with urine immediately clung to every fibre of his clothing. He doubted he could ever wear them again after finishing today’s task. Harm had a strong stomach. He had carved his way through enough beasts in his time as an adventurer, including their excrement and bodily fluids.

Harm took a deep breath through his mouth. He would try to breathe as little as possible through his nose. His job was to empty the pit, and he rolled the wheelbarrow he had brought from the chapel down the slight slope to the grate. He had already dug a burning pit further to the rear of the outhouse, where he would transport it before it could be burned using normal means. A barrel of oil was already positioned by its top with rags, ready for just that purpose.

The grate squealed as he opened it, its hinges rusted over the years. The sludgy remains were being pushed until they almost overflowed from the pit. Harm stole himself as he stepped down into the sludge. His boot met the soft ground beneath, sinking into its forgiving surface. His boot sank far enough for the pit’s contents to breach its top immediately, and he felt the sickening feeling of damp sludge between his toes. He had positioned the wheelbarrow across the slope to prevent it from rolling, and with the shovel and bucket he had brought, he began the unenviable task of scooping the contents out and placing them into the wheelbarrow. 

Wes had accompanied Harm that morning, and Vera, Satil’s wife, had escorted him near to the outhouse, showing him where to go. Burners with scented oils surrounded it to fight back the smell that escaped from its depths.

Vera looked at Harm almost with pity as she and Wes watched him descend the slope.

“It hasn’t been cleaned in months,” Vera said candidly. “Satil is unwilling to pay the fees that Martha seeks.”

Wes nodded his head in understanding. Martha was the town mage; she had been a member of the community her whole life and, now in her twilight years, still performed her main duty as the disposer of waste. There were several waste pits in the town that she would regularly maintain, disposing of the detritus of others. Outhouses were her main income stream, though, and these were funded by the individual families that made up the township. She would be seen daily moving around the streets of Sallew, from home to home, performing her never-ending duties. At the last town meeting that Wes had attended, there had been a cause for concern. Martha was getting on, and there were no other mages in the town. With that in mind, several worried about what would happen when she eventually joined the Requiem.

“I always found her costs reasonable,” Wes said.

Vera shook her head as though in disbelief. “So did I,” she sighed. “Please, could I get you a drink while you are here? I think poor Harmonious may be busy for most of the day.”

“Thanks. But I need to get back to the barn. I left early this morning, and I have to care for some of the animals. I will call back this afternoon.”

“No problem,” Vera said as she led Wes back to where his cart was.

As Wes moved off down the path that led back to town, he felt sick at what Harm would have to do today.

Several hours had passed, and Harm was on his umpteenth trip to the burn pit he had dug. He had already burned four lots of waste, and this would be his fifth. Initially, he believed the task to be endless, not seeing a visible dent in the amount of matter he had removed, but slowly, as the hours passed, he began to see results. His clothes became damp from the humid air beneath the outhouse and the pit’s contents, covering him. His only respite since he had arrived had been when a servant of the house had brought him a pitcher of water. As Harm approached to thank the girl, she backed away in shock at the sight of him. The waste of others had soaked and smeared his clothes. Holding her nose, she had turned immediately and left for the house. That was the last person he had seen since he had begun the thankless task.

Harm guessed that after another couple of hours, he might finish. He tipped the wheelbarrow’s contents into the burn pit. Then, topping it with oil from the barrel, dosing a rag in oil, and lighting it with flint and steel. As it caught, he dropped it onto the contents, the swoosh of flame from the oil sending a small fireball skyward. 

“Two more burns,” he said to himself as he lifted the barrow and returned to the outhouse.

As he made his way back down the slope, he heard voices. There were five stalls inside the building, and there were openings visible above. He didn’t fancy being inside while people used the facility, so he waited.

“I thought that bastard was supposed to be here?” a voice said. 

Harm’s interests were immediately piqued on hearing the comment. 

“He was, but he is probably off somewhere in the grounds drinking if it’s anything like normal for the wretch,” another replied.

“I can’t wait any longer. He's probably too drunk to hear us anyway,” the first voice declared, while Harm listened to the door of the outhouse opening.

Harm heard a door close; a second voice then asked, “What’s the plan?”

“Usual,” the original voice replied as Harm heard him grunt.

“By usual, you mean we are moving the goods?”

“Yes. They need to be with Dasir before the end of the week.”

“I would love to know what he is doing with all this stuff.”

“I do not know, but the boss wants it done, so we do it,” the voice replied as Harm heard movement and the sloshing of water from the cleaning bucket.

“I still don’t know what the boss’s plan is.”

The outhouse door opened, and Harm heard it close again.

“Nor I, but whatever it is involves Dasir. Ever since Scrug went out of business, he has become his primary focus.”

The second man scoffed. “He already was. You know that feed we took to Larky’s that time, it came from Dasir.”

Harm blanched on hearing his name mentioned, and their voices trailed off as they moved away, back towards the main house.

What did he mean? The feed came from Dasir? Harm thought. It had been months since the horrific events at the farm had unfolded, and this was the first time Harm had even heard anything about feed being provided by Dasir. Harm had always used Larky’s feed for his herd, and hearing it had come from Dasir sent his mind spinning at the possible implications. The only two dairy farmers in the valley had been himself and Dasir, and Dasir had been providing the feed. No, it couldn’t have been, could it?

Harm stood for several minutes as his mind played out what he had heard. Had Dasir provided poisoned feed to Larky, knowing that Harm purchased it from him? It couldn’t have been that simple, could it? Harm knew Wes had never managed to come up with anything to support what had happened to his herd. Even after he had spoken to his druidic network, nothing had come back that could explain the occurrences. If Dasir was behind it and Satil knew then...

No. Not now. Harm thought. He couldn’t comprehend that even Satil would have allowed something like that to take place. He needed to finish his task and not lose focus. He could worry about it later. He would speak to Sister Carol and Wes and get their thoughts. Nothing the men had said had really been evidential; he was jumping to conclusions.

Harm again dropped into the pit, continuing his task.

“How are you getting on?” Harm heard Wes call a couple of hours later.

Harm was finishing. He had finally scraped the last remnants from the walls and appeared at the grate, looking up.

“Just finishing up.”

Wes, standing at the top of the slope, gasped at the sight of Harm. His face was a mix of sickness and shock.

“May the gods have mercy. Look at the state of you.”

“Ha. Sister Carol was right when she said I would be swimming in shit,” Harm chuckled as he closed the grate and removed the cloth from his face, throwing it onto the other contents in the barrow. He ascended the slope, and Wes scrunched his face as Harm neared him, stepping back. 

“Just need to burn this last load,” Harm smiled.

“How the fuck can you smile?” Wes asked, frowning.

“It isn’t too bad once you get used to it.”

“Damn, you smell terrible,” Wes said, pinching his nose.

“Breathe through your mouth,” Harm said as he reached the top of the slope and turned towards the burn pit.

Wes didn’t follow Harm as he finished his final trip, tipping the remains of the oil into the pit. He lit it for the final time. 

“Don’t bother bringing the barrow and stuff back,” Wes called from a distance.

Harm shrugged as he pushed the barrow into the pit with the shovel and bucket he had been using.

Wiping his hands on his already filthy clothing, he returned to Wes. “All done,” he said.

Wes shook his head in disbelief. “Look, you go around the side, and I will meet you at the front. There is no way you can go through the house like that.”

“Fair ‘nough,” Harm replied.

It didn’t take long for Wes to appear from the house, with Vera accompanying him. She took one look at the state of Harm now sitting in the back of Wes’s cart and grimaced; her face turning a hint of green when she saw his state. She didn’t speak as Wes climbed into the cart and started back down the path.

It was late afternoon, and Wes didn’t travel through the centre of the town, instead looping around to get to the chapel. Harm couldn’t smell himself, having become immune to it throughout the day, but the colour that Wes was turning in the cart told a different story. As they reached the chapel, Wes spoke.

“You can’t come inside like that. You need a bath. Wait by the rear door,” Wes said.

Harm climbed out of the rear of the cart and walked around to the rear of the chapel. A few minutes later, the rear door opened, and Sister Carol came outside, her eyes opening wide in shock on seeing Harm.

“I know what Wes meant now,” she said, looking at Harm and holding her nose. “Jeffer and Wes are grabbing the bath, and I have water on. You need to strip down; those clothes need burning.”

Wes and Jeffer appeared a couple of minutes later and placed the steel tub on the ground at the rear of the chapel. It took several buckets of water to fill the tub before it was ready, and Harm was about to strip out of his clothes when he looked at Sister Carol.

“Harm. You have nothing I haven’t seen before. I am old enough to be your mother after all,” she shook her head, rolling her eyes.

Harm had never considered Sister Carol's age before, but she definitely didn’t appear old enough to be his mother. He shrugged as he stripped off his ruined clothes. Jeffer picked them up with his fingertips and walked them over to a fire pit situated to the rear of the chapel, dropping them inside as Harm climbed into the tub. 

As Harm scrubbed himself clean from his day’s labour, Sister Carol returned with scented oils, adding them to the water.

“This should help,” she said.

Harm just smiled lopsidedly. “Thanks. I will be smelling as pretty as you once I am finished.”

Sister Carol’s face flushed slightly. “Harmonious Scrug, that is no way to speak to a Sister,” she replied, trying not to smirk.

“Sure, sure,” Harm said as he scooped up water and cascaded it over his head. Since he had started to recuperate fully, he was very slowly beginning to fill out again. He was still nowhere near the man he had been, but he could slowly feel his body readapting.

“Wes will be back with some clothes for you soon. I am going to go and make dinner; it should be ready by the time you are,” Sister Carol said, turning and entering the chapel.

Harm continued to scrub himself, the strong scented oil almost overpowering his nostrils, although pleasant after the day’s activities.